The story is set in Ladakh almost two decades ago — in a remote Shangri La filled with grey hills, yaks and sky-blue rivers. In this landscape of geographical superlatives, where the Himalayas envelop India, China and Pakistan in a fortified embrace, walks a man whose legend is as tall as the mountains. Colonel Sonam Wangchuk, MVC, first captured the nation’s imagination and his people’s reverence when he and his team of men from the Ladakh Scouts stormed Chorbat La in 1999; an act of such exemplary daring that it turned the tide of the Kargil War and earned Col Wangchuk, then a Major, a Maha Vir Chakra (India’s second highest wartime military decoration). Chorbat La lies in the high ranges that mark the Line of Control. Nothing thrives here except barley fields, Buddhism and the belief of a hardy people that flutters as high as the prayer flags. Over centuries, Chorbat La has been a gateway for marauding invaders who were repulsed by Ladakhi kings. On a cold night in June 1999, Maj Wangchuk took a leaf out of the book of his kings, and along with the Ladakh Scouts, a regiment of men drawn from these parts and known as the Snow Tigers, launched an offensive to recapture the pass from Pakistani troops. The Ladakh Scouts was raised in 1948 as the Nubra Guards, and re-formed as an infantry regiment in 2000, after it negotiated ice walls to script an incredible storythat has made it to textbooks. The 70th anniversary of the regiment was marked by the presentation of the President’s Colours and the release of The Lion of Ladakh, a 15-minute documentary on the capture of Chorbat La as narrated by the men who did it. The documentary that has garnered over 2.5 million views, has been made by three young filmmakers from Mumbai — Somesh Saha, Soumil Shetty and Rohan Sharma. The three have a penchant for throwing light on tales of bravery often lost in the fog of memory (last year they made The Warrior Spirit on posthumous Ashok Chakra awardee Havildar Hangpan Dada. Saha, who produced the documentary directed by Shetty, says, “Col Wangchuk is a living legend, yet someone who is so light-hearted for all that. Only when you see the aura around him do you realise the gravity of what he’s achieved. He is also tremendously fit.” It is this fitness that drove him to join the Army, says Col Wangchuk in the documentary, which opens with Francois Castellino’s baritone introducing the lead player. “I grew up running 14-15 kilometres every day,” a feat near impossible in the rarefied air at 18,000 feet. “At that altitude, you are prone to pulmonary oedema and frostbite,” says Sharma, who handled editing and VFX; for the urban crew of four, it was a tough call. “Acclimatisation was challenging, our cameras died. For every two steps forward we were set back by four.” Saha adds, “Breathing is difficult. If you sleep off, you wake up gasping. It’s disorienting. Catching first light was hell. It’s too cold to stay awake, and the oxygen is too less to fall asleep. But, the spirit of the men here is unrelenting.” The camera pans the stark hills of Handang Brok, a frontier post where one sees snow fall from the high heavens and hears the laughter of men who’ve learnt to conquer their fears. The documentary uses interesting graphics and the words of Col Wangchuk and his men, both serving and retired, to tell us how Chorbat La was taken. It also weaves in interviews with Lieutenant-General Mohinder Puri (retired), who then headed the 8 Mountain Division, Col Wangchuk’s wife Padma (Director, Election Commission), an ex-station director of Radio Kashmir, a monk, and a social worker, who speak of what the victory meant to Ladakh. Shot over two weeks, a period when “we loaded up on chocolate bars, but still ended up losing weight”, the team also took the story to the colonel’s house, where he speaks of how the Army had the support of the people. “Doctors, engineers and others served alongside, and for this companionship we are grateful,” says Col Wangchuk, dressed in a traditional goucha and as much at home in it as he is in his parka. The documentary concludes with an officer strumming a guitar and singing his version of ‘Purani Jeans’. But it is the Ladakh Scouts regimental war cry ‘Ki Ki So So Lhargyalo’ (Victory to God) that resounds in these mountains.

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